


Innocence Dies Screaming

by aviatordame



Category: Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aviatordame/pseuds/aviatordame
Summary: A drop of rain hits her scales, the sunlight catching their scarlet colour, almost translating it to blue; a mosaic of complex hues.Impa is unable to look away.It is a divinity she has never appreciated before, never thought real; and Mipha is truly beautiful.[Mipha/Impa]
Relationships: Impa/Mipha
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: LoZ: Botw/AoC Rareship Bingo





	Innocence Dies Screaming

A place where dawn is always upon the horizon. The hush of rain falling through the trees. A golden sun promising to peer above the mountaintops. A land which smiles, and soothes any weary soul which wanders across it. 

Water, crashing and rushing in streams, gifting life. Breaks of the waterfalls, smashing against rock, and the zora gliding across the deep blue, seemingly merry amidst devastation. 

One day, scholars of the future will name it Heaven. 

Although, as raindrops tickle her cheeks, looking up through the break of nature, the skies so distant and alive, she wonders how a refuge such as this exists. 

A people so intimate with their faith, the land which surrounds them, grateful for each day the Goddesses offer, perhaps it is no surprise the zora thrive. Their lives long and fulfilling, as if reluctant to ever abandon a world they have come to adore so dearly. 

She, too, shares this attachment. Yet her tribe can never match to a thousand years. The typical age a sheikah welcomes death is well after one hundred, but the zora tribe demonstrates an immortality she hasn’t witnessed before. Although they hold her with suspicion, crudely associating her with hylian blood, some are relatively friendly. And some are centuries old. Yet, one would believe they were still in their adolescence. 

A remarkable species, so proud and pious, a power she is close to admiring; a wisdom unmatched.

The very symbol of the domain’s prosperity lies with its princess. A princess surprisingly small. Agile and focussed in battle. 

Their only difference in combat is their chosen weapon. The zora princess uses her petiteness to her advantage, eliminating her enemy with commendable precision, and great skill. Yet, simultaneously, heals the bruised and bleeding. A warrior princess who strives for peace, and will do anything to achieve such. An innate desire to protect, to fight for her people, to defend an entire kingdom which strictly does not belong to her. Selfless, kind, formidable and, over time, a sight to behold.

Guardian of a race dangerously facing extinction. That is another certainty they share. 

Impa does not compare Mipha to Princess Zelda. They are two different people, with very contrasting beliefs and values. Princess Mipha is all too aware of the fact Impa’s loyalties lie solely with the hylian princess. She does not refer to Mipha as _Princess_ nor _Her Royal Highness_. There are no formalities, and the two are seemingly equal in rank. When Impa looks at Mipha, she doesn’t necessarily see a queen, but a preserver, a warden; the very definition of a champion. A warrior who protects, oversees the birth and death of her citizens; a single soul who ensures the safety and wellbeing of all in her care.

They don’t speak often. More, observe the other from afar. Curious of each other. Mipha hasn’t seen a sheikah before, only read about them. Despite Impa’s thrilling travels, she hasn’t met a zora in person. 

Potentially they both belong to tribes misunderstood, a conflict deeply rooted in their own respective tribal narratives. Yet, their God, their land, their people, remain at the very core of everything which they do. 

When Impa enquires why Mipha is smaller than the others, she smiles, as if she has been expecting this question for a long time. 

‘I was once an impatient child.’

Eventually, Impa assumes Mipha was premature. Her growth was permanently damaged. Yet it is hard to imagine the zora princess as _impatient_. Then again, Mipha has been alive for a considerable amount of time. It’s not too much of a stretch to imagine Mipha has matured considerably over the years. 

Impa’s lifetime may be a blink of an eye for her. She wonders whether Mipha will remember the friends and allies she has made in hundreds of years, or if new people will enter her life, and she will forget.

Lost somewhere in the domain, the princess approaches Impa with a question of her own.

‘Where did you learn to fight?’

Most sheikah have a natural talent for combat. 

‘No one in particular taught me, although they say I am related to the greatest sheikah warriors who ever lived. Maybe it has something to do with that.’

‘Hence the tattoo.’

‘Yes,’ Impa tilts her head. ‘How did you know?’

‘I guessed.’ Again, the princess smiles; always wonderful, always kind. ‘You fascinate me.’

Although Mipha may not have meant that as a compliment, Impa flushes. She smiles crookedly, lowering her gaze momentarily; a subtle gesture of timidness which Mipha never expected from a woman so powerful. 

Most brilliant warriors tend to struggle with praise. Just as Link hides, Impa seems to struggle with the truth. 

But, that’s what makes these warriors so brilliant.

Humble creatures, with nothing to offer, but their true selves.

‘When did you learn your abilities to heal?’

Of course, the curiosity is mutual. 

Mipha has to think about that question. 

‘I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t a healer,’ she muses. 

A drop of rain hits her scales, the sunlight catching their scarlet colour, almost translating it to blue; a mosaic of complex hues. 

Impa is unable to look away. 

It is a divinity she has never appreciated before, never thought real; and Mipha is truly beautiful. 

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No. Although, I have been told it can itch a little.’

Stepping towards Impa, Mipha has to look up, the warrior is almost half a foot taller than she. Admittedly, Mipha is naturally small, but are all sheikah this tall? She thinks of the gerudo, a remarkable race of women, who can touch the skies, their height is so magnificent. 

There’s a different look about Impa, though. It’s almost _youthful_ , close to angelic, but she can identify that ruthless charisma Mipha so often witnesses on the battlefield. 

She reaches out her hand, touching Impa’s arm; blood has oozed through the sleeve, and she glances up at Impa, questioning whether the sheikah would be interested to endure the natural remedy herself. 

Impa doesn’t seem so sure, but she doesn’t refuse.

Gently, _very gently_ , Mipha rolls up Impa’s sleeve, locating the injury. It isn’t significantly bad, but it does require a little attention. Tender, the zora princess hovers her palm above the wound, and Impa watches, silent. A light blue aura appears from Mipha’s hand, and Impa can barely feel the energy as it caresses her torn skin. 

Almost as a lover would, Mipha dedicates all her spirit and regard for Impa, calm and relaxed while she nurses the warrior to health. Near the end, Impa can feel that slight itchiness, but it’s barely noticeable. What stuns her is how effortless Mipha heals her, and she can see the wound stitching itself up, the blood slowly returning home, and then, the injury is completely healed. There are no scars, not even minor marks. 

Mipha truly embodies all that is glorious of the domain.

And Impa is wonderstruck.

‘Thank you.’

‘If you ever need my help, please ask me.’

Briefly, Impa glances at the blue sash tied around the princess; her own chain which she voluntarily attached. It doesn’t suit her. Not a princess so independent, belonging to no one, and yet bursting with a love which may be her eventual downfall. 

They could ask one another, _why do you fight? And, who do you fight for?_

Us, _we_ , who share an identity so confused and astray.

Sovereigns without a crown. Guardians without a kingdom.

Impa wonders, _when you heal all of us, who is the one who heals you?_

‘And same to you, princess,’ Impa acknowledges. A glint of respect shadowing her already alluring eyes. ‘Whatever you need.’

It is a bizarre sensation, yet lovely all the same, when Mipha thinks she may have all she needs right here.


End file.
